


Hogmanay at Jamie's

by CornishPatsy



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen, Whouffaldi Secret Santa 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 06:17:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9110251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CornishPatsy/pseuds/CornishPatsy
Summary: The Doctor and Clara take a break by visiting an old friend for Hogmanay. Most of the history/legends/locations are accurate-ish but I took liberties with the weather - you're more likely to have rain than snow.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clara-is-brave](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=clara-is-brave).



Clara dropped into the armchair in the console room, too tired to walk further. She’d run for so long she couldn’t remember the last time she stood still, through psychedelic corridors and eldritch soundscapes that attacked her brain. Now she could sit, her hearing muffled, eyes burning, head pounding. She barely noticed as the doctor piloted them to somewhere, somewhen, and tossed some thing out of the door into a celestial goodness-knows-what.   
The doctor came back from the door and sat on the floor by the chair, legs sticking out, hair sticking up.   
‘That doesn’t look good. Your eyes are red and your face is white. How do you do that? Doesn’t matter. How do we stop it?’  
‘I’m just tired. That last run was … a bit more alien than usual.’  
‘Culture shock. You need to be around your own kind.’  
Clara sighed and said, ‘Somewhere quiet. No flashy lights. No bright colours. No screeching.’  
The doctor thought for a few seconds, then snapped his fingers. Clara’s eyes jolted open, then she sighed again and settled back in the chair. The doctor didn’t notice. He was heading for a bookcase.  
‘I’ve got a friend, ‘ he said, ‘Scottish chap, from a long way back. He’s had his memory of his time with me wiped, but I try to keep an eye on him. I go to see him once in every regeneration, but usually I have to stay hidden. This time, however,’ he said as he swirled round dramatically, ‘I’m Scottish too. I can blend in.’  
Clara sighed yet again.

The doctor came back with a book of Scottish history, and gave it to Clara. ‘We’ll have to find him again. Name of McCr-r-r-r-rimmon. Met him first at the battle of Culloden. He survives it.’  
Clara took the book and leafed through. Five minutes later, she fell asleep with it open in her lap.

When she woke, a teapot in an octopus cosy had appeared beside her. The doctor was lying on the floor with his sunglasses on.   
‘Hogmanay,’ Clara said.  
‘Why not?’  
‘We can be first-footers.’  
‘Of course we can. Um. Absolutely. Ah, we can be the first-foot, also known in Manx Gaelic as quaaltagh or qualtagh, the first person to enter the home of a household on New Year's Day and a bringer of good fortune for the coming year.’  
Clara snatched at his sunglasses.  
‘You’re web browsing again.’  
‘Drink your tea.’

A day later, and they had rough co-ordinates to aim for – a village on Skye called Borreraig where the McCrimmons had once had a piping school, in the time range 1750 to 1780.   
‘And Highland dress was banned at the time, so no, I am NOT wearing a kilt! Bagpipes were considered instruments of war – hey, humans can do puns when they try – so they’re banned too.’  
Clara was wearing a long, burgundy shift and several petticoats and was folding a long white wool wrap around herself, trying to work out how it should be pinned. She’d refused to wear stays, and wasn’t convinced that the Tardis wasn’t playing a wardrobe trick on her anyway. The doctor had a collarless shirt, waistcoat, surprisingly tight black trousers and a heavy black cloak he was swishing around happily. There were knitted Scots bonnets and shapeless coats hanging over the rails nearby, and a sack sitting open on the floor. The doctor rifled through it.  
‘Block of rock salt, check. Small bottle whisky, check. Silver coin from, er,’ he peered at it, ‘somewhere they weren’t much good at drawing horses, check. Coal in small sack, check. Shortbread, check. Fruit cake, check. Oooh.’ He dashed off and returned with a large disc-shaped parcel, wrapped in paper. ‘Proper present. Mustn’t forget this.’   
Clara looked a bit nervous at that, but she let it go.   
‘Doctor… we need a cover story. It’s unlucky for the first footer to be a doctor. Or a minister. Or a grave digger. And you’re meant to be dark-haired.’  
‘Oh, my hair’s not that bad. Just a few silver ones. Now, put the boot-polish down and back away from it.’  
He glared at her.  
‘Doctors are unlucky?’  
‘Yep, and women, which is why I’m letting you go first. Just this once.’  
‘Alright, we’re travellers. We make books. You write, I draw. My friend the Doctor met Jamie after Culloden and Jamie helped him, so now I’m in the area I’m calling to pass on the Doctor’s good wishes. Will that do?’  
‘Anything that doesn’t involve the yoyo will do.’

The Tardis landed with a gentle bump, kicking up a flurry of snow. The doctor opened the door and stuck a lantern out, followed by his head. He came face to face with a large woolly cow, which licked him from chin to nose, and he rubbed at his face with his sleeve while Clara petted the cow. Then he looked the cow straight in the eyes and mooed at it. The cow gestured with its head towards a path. The doctor smiled, mooed more gently and shouldered his sack. He and Clara scrunched along the frosty path, towards a stone stile.  
Once they were out of the shelter of the field the wind hit them. Ice crystals swirled in the air, frigid mud puddles cracked underfoot and the noise of breakers on a shore came from behind them. The doctor forged ahead uphill, while Clara kept in his wind-shadow as far as possible. She thought about singing carols, but it was too bleak and black out here. She was cold already, but she was also on a mission. They had to arrive exactly at midnight.   
A few more minutes of walking upwards, and suddenly the wind dropped. It took a few seconds to register that the cause was a dark wall looming in front of them. It was a black house, with dry stone walls and a thatched roof, and now they could hear animal noises from inside it.   
‘This one’s a barn. The house has to be nearby. We’ll walk round.’  
On the far side of the barn they found a flat farmyard and a second black house, with its front door facing them. This house had a very dim light showing from a tiny window, but getting closer they could hear a muffled hubbub. Clara grabbed the doctor’s hand as a curtain was pulled from the window, and the light and noise increased. The doctor pulled her back against the barn and whispered, ‘We need to hear the church bells first. I hope the wind’s right.’   
The wind was gusty, but several chimes made their way through, and the hubbub turned into a cheer. Someone clambered out through the window and was heading for the door when the doctor strode across the farmyard and dropped a hand on his shoulder. The poor boy squawked in fright, and Clara had to run to his side.  
‘It’s alright. We’re visitors. Can we come in?’  
Without waiting for an answer the doctor gave three hefty knocks on the door. It was pulled open, and a woman in her sixties said ‘That’s good knockin’, young Gordon,’ before realising she was looking at the chest of a tall, thin man she didn’t recognise. The doctor smiled widely at her, which really didn’t help. Clara and Gordon walked into view. Gordon called out, ‘they’re visitors,’ and Clara kicked the doctor until he remembered to say, ’Happy New Year! I bring good tidings from an old friend. And some coal. And cake.’  
A man’s voice from inside the house said ‘Well, let them in then. They’ve no call to be standin’ in the snow when we’ve a fire.’  
When they entered the house they found it was jam-packed, with people of all ages, who weren’t looking as surprised as Clare had expected. There was a blazing fire, and they were ushered to it and their coats taken. Sitting in a wooden chair in the best spot was the man whose voice they’d heard. His hair was sandy, mixed with grey, but the doctor recognised him at once.  
‘Jamie McCrimmon! I mean, you’ll be Jamie McCrimmon?’  
‘Aye’  
A small boy with big hazel eyes pushed his way out of the throng around the fire and stared at the doctor. ‘Are you one of Granda’s strange men?’  
The doctor bent down, face to face with him, ‘Do I look str-r-r-range, then?’  
The little boy nodded vigorously. ‘When the strange men are around, Granda goes on adventures.’  
There was a general hum of agreement, and a girl added, ‘That’s why the Loch Ness monster lives in our loch now. The poor huge beastie was goin’ to be hunted down. He’s only a water womble.’  
More voices chimed in, ‘And they saved the fairy flag!’ ‘Made a treaty wi’ the blue men of the Minch.’ ‘Got rid of the giants.’  
Jamie threw the doctor a look.   
‘Don’t worry, I dropped them off on Aldebaran Minor. Much more suitable place for them. Had to reinforce the Tardis floor afterwards.’  
‘Anyway,’ the doctor continued, ‘this time, my friend and I are here to bring you a sack full of gifts and join in the party. No monsters. No weirdness. Is one of you called Lachlan?’ The small boy nodded again. ‘Alright, one bit of weirdness. This is for you,’ he handed over the disk-shaped package, ‘it’s called a dartboard, and you need to learn how to throw the darts at it so you always hit your target. That’s going to be important. You’ll meet a man with a coat of many colours and blonde curly hair – arrogant dobber, but ignore that – and he’s going to need your help and you’re going to need his. All of you. And one of you has to be good at throwing darts.’  
Jamie pushed a cup of whisky into the doctor’s hand. Conversations started up again. Clara was introduced to Donald, Jean, another Jamie, Patrick, Malcolm, Alastair, Angus, Marsali, Calum, Sheena, Big Dougal, Ewan, Kenneth, Ailsa, a third Jamie, Caitriona, Red Ross, Black Ross, Elspeth, Fenella carrying baby Little Dougal, Fiona and the twins, Jamie and Isla, and memorised the lot first go. Elspeth burrowed into the doctor’s sack, looking for cake, and found the shortbread too. Someone served haggis slices from a tray by the fire, adding a pile of vegetables to each plate. Clara found herself eating, and chatting, and soaking up the warmth. The doctor was trying to eat, talk to Jamie and explain the darts scoring system to the children at the same time. Soon bagpipes appeared as if from nowhere, and people flattened themselves against the walls to make room for a dance. Jamie produced a silver chanter for his pipes, and played the fastest, most complex jig Clara had ever heard. Soon everyone was dancing. Jamie took Clara for a turn while both twins pulled the doctor round the floor.   
It was Clara who first noticed the glow in the sky out of the tiny window. She pointed it out to her current partner, Gordon, who threw open the front door and called everyone into the yard. They stared up at rippling curtains of eerie green light, so bright they cast a glitter on the snow. ‘Even the Nimble Men are dancing tonight,’ said Jamie, and Clara shook her head at the doctor before he started explaining atmospheric electrical phenomena. Then they all rushed into the warm again and the party went on until dawn.


End file.
